Memoirs of a beatnik Read Free Page B

we somehow got onto the bed. The world was a carousel, an amusement park full of spinning lights and loving noises. I had forgotten human speech, it stuck in my throat. I had forgotten the name of the man whose hand was in my cunt. I tugged at the hand. "Take off your ring," I said hoarsely. My voice came from Saturn and floated into the room.
    He was on me now, bucking and straining like an animal. A faun. But it was too much. My small tight cunt couldn't take in his huge cock. His urgency, demanding, threw me off. I struggled against it. He buried his face in my hair. "Lie still," he said in my ear. "Lie still and listen to the rain."

    February Continued
    I went limp, I floated in a soft, grey mist. The room dissolved, had the candles gone out? I saw nothing. His long beautiful hands under my buttocks drew me closer to him. I embraced him with my thighs, locked my ankles around his back. I knew I was drowning, I could taste the sea. I could hear my own voice crying out as he pierced the membrane that protected my virginity, but I was unaware that I had spoken. The grey mist exploded in light and color around me. I could hear myself moaning, I could hear Ivan gasp. Over and over again he whispered my name, and then there was nothing left but pleasure I had never imagined surging through me in wave after wave.
    Afterward there was blood on his cock, and when I could move again I licked it off, swallowing my childhood, entering the world of the living.

    February Continued

    February Concluded
    "Hey," I said gently, "hey." I touched the side of his face with my hand. I slid my hand under his neck and drew him closer to me. I kissed him again, longer and more thoroughly, showing him how, a hundred hows he had forgotten, or never known.
    His hand slipped under the sheet and examined my breast shyly. Then drew away and slid over my ribs, down my back. Played for a long time with my buttocks, really liked them. Their smoothness. Traced curves from hip to navel, then back again, searching gently the dark crease between the two mounds of my ass. He drew his hand away, sticky with half-dried come that had flowed there from my morning of lovemaking. He threw the sheet back and made marks on my hips with the wetness. Ivan's wetness, I could feel him thinking. I said nothing, but I had a thousand questions in my head.
    Robin bent his head to my bared body, and took one of my breasts into his mouth. Deliberately. Trying it out. I curled my fingers in his hair, pressing him to me, half in pleasure, half in a vague attempt to comfort him for I knew not what.
    As I held him so, I thought of the many strange, half-finished scenes I had found myself in during the past two years, since I had first allowed myself to be picked up at the age of fifteen on the way home from a modern dance class. Many were the experiments I had engaged in and abruptly stopped, many the love scenes I had witnessed or aided, but I had always been put off by the blase, professional quality of my partners, and had not been willing to "go all the way" till last night, when Ivan's beauty and awkwardness had completely won me over. All odds and ends of sexual skill which my seventeen-year-old self had accumulated, and which last night had been completely blasted out of my grasp by the intensity of our coming together, now returned, demanding to be tried and tested. This boy, more frightened and hungry than I had ever been, called them out of me.
    It was strange to feel his clothing against me, buttons pressed into my belly and groin. I longed to undress him, to see his white, almost hairless torso, but I didn't know what he wanted, how much or how little, and somehow hesitated for fear I might frighten him off. This was, I reflected, a little sleepily, his shot. My fingers stroked the nape of his neck and under his collar. He withdrew his

    February Concluded
    lips from my nipple and, cupping both my breasts in his hands, buried his head between them, slowly working his